Proof
by TropeOverdosed
Summary: They all called him Cyborg, and for good reason. Vic Stone was long gone, dead the moment Cyborg himself should have died had cybernetics not given him a second life. But Cyborg isn't as alone as he thinks he is, and Beast Boy is determined to let him know that. Oneshot.


Frost licked the tips of the grass and grazed the trees of Jump City. Soon, the entire place would be covered in a sheet of brilliant white; but for now, the little specks of frost were enough to signal that winter was on its way to visit. The sky was a hazy purplish-grey with faint streaks of orange, clouds weakly suspended in the air and barely visible. As the sun sank in the sky, the cold crept into the city. Its denizens were bundled up in thick coats and scarves accordingly.

But machines didn't need to bundle up.

Cyborg stood at the edge of Titans Tower, exposing himself to the elements. Not that there was much of himself to expose anyways. Only half of his face could even feel the wind. The other half remained numb, unfeeling. His human half, however, bore the brunt of the cold, which slapped his face with icy hands and made it sting.

He couldn't complain, though. This was exactly what he had wanted. The pain was proof. The pain was tangible. And when he felt the cold biting at his nose and cheek, he actually felt like he was there. Like he existed.

The wind acknowledged him, but only partway. He looked down at hands, bending each mechanical finger one by one until he had formed two fists. He clenched as tightly as he could.

No pain, no cold, no pressure. No proof. Nothing.

Cyborg had never really liked spring or autumn. They were too mild for him to feel anything, the "in-betweens," as he called them. He needed extremes. To be hit with sensations, and hit with them hard. It was the only way to prove that there was part of him that was still flesh and blood. He'd come out here and sit on the ledge on early winter mornings and sunsets, trying to fill himself up with the cold for fear of losing a part of him. And yet he would always leave unsatisfied, only half of his face ever feeling the slap of that wind. Living a life where he could only feel things partway. His machinery saved his life by shielding him from the world around him, until he questioned if he was even a part of it anymore.

The wind didn't acknowledge him; it only acknowledged what was left of him.

And that was nothing much. They all called him Cyborg, and for good reason. Vic Stone was long gone, dead the moment Cyborg himself should have died had cybernetics not given him a second life.

That accident should have killed him. He should have been dead. Perhaps he lived now, but at the cost of being a zombie.

He clenched his fists again, desperate to feel something.

 _Not dead. Not dead. Not dead._

He remembered Brother Blood's illusion.

 _I can make you what you once were,_ the old man had told him.

And for a moment, he could actually feel the weight of his hand. Soft and vulnerable and exposed to the air, a warm, deep brown as opposed to the usual, sterile grey and white. And for that one moment, he could actually feel his entire self split into two: man and machine. The machine, of course, saw right through Blood's ruse. But the man...

The man looked into those glowing red eyes and believed he had found a part of himself he thought he had lost long ago. He felt that hand, that gloriously human hand, and felt like a missing puzzle piece now interlocked snugly with the tiny part of his arm that was not mechanical. The machine side of him was supposed to support the man, not tear him apart. The ghost of Blood's voice haunted his ears.

 _I can give you back your life._

"Ugh!" He slammed the ledge he was leaning on with his fist, resulting in an angry clank. Worn-out and defeated, Cyborg buried his face into his hands.

He knew he was being selfish. His teammates, his friends—they had all lost their old life as well. The Teen Titans was essentially a group of outcasts transformed into unlikely heroes. Not everything was about him or just about him. His pain over the past was something they shared. And yet they didn't share it at the same time.

They had lost friends, they had lost family.

But had they ever lost themselves?

Robin was the only fully human member of their team. Star was a hundred percent Tamaranean. Raven was born half-demon. And Beast Boy...

Cyborg's brows furrowed in confusion, his grief momentarily forgotten. What even _was—_

"Hey, Cy."

Cyborg turned around. Speak of the devil.

The little grass stain made his way to him, holding a stick of...something in each hand. He couldn't tell if it was food; it had no discernible smell.

Beast Boy caught him staring at what he was holding and grinned. "Oh, where are my manners. Tofu kebab?" he offered.

Cyborg stared at him. "No thanks, man." He turned back to face the city.

"Woah, dude." Beast Boy's voice became even higher than usual in disbelief. "You didn't even yell at me. What's up?"

Cyborg stared straight ahead. "Nothing," he said evenly. Well, nothing he'd understand.

Beast Boy leaned on the ledge Cyborg was looking out from, now a visible blotch of green out of the corner of Cyborg's eye. He tore a bite out of that disgusting stick of impostor meat.

"Wehidussuhntsheemfwikenuhtn," he argued, tiny pieces of tofu flying out of his mouth as he spoke.

"Ugh. I don't even know what you're saying." Cyborg gritted his teeth. He didn't need this right now. He didn't want to snap at his friend and say something he'd regret later, but Beast Boy's behavior was getting on his nerves (or on whatever was left of his nerves, anyways). The kid didn't have a care in the world. He expressed no regret about the past and no concern about the future. He was in the moment. He was here. He was a part of this world, no matter how occasionally immature or obnoxious or outlandish of a part that was.

And so perhaps Cyborg couldn't help but be jealous.

Beast Boy swallowed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He was finished with an entire kebab by the time he spoke again. "I said, 'well, it doesn't seem like nothing.' You look pretty down." He started gnawing at his other kebab.

"Look. If you just came up here to eat and be annoying, you can do that inside too," Cyborg snapped.

Silence. The other kebab fell to the floor, forgotten. Beast Boy's knit his brows and looked at the ground. Cyborg sighed.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

"I know," said Beast Boy. "You'd only say that if you were upset. I heard you punching the tower."

"What?" Cyborg's face grew warm. "Oh man, did anyone else hear me?" His problem was his. He didn't need his friends getting worked up about not being able to understand it.

Beast Boy shook his head. "I don't think they did. But me—" He wiggled his ears and pointed to them. "—heightened senses. And I know you hate it when your things get wrecked, so I don't know why you'd be the one to do it...something's up."

He exhaled in defeat and put his arms up. "Alright. You got me. You happy?"

"What? No! What is it?"

"Don't worry about it. I don't even know how to explain it."

Beast Boy sputtered. "What the–seriously dude? You're gonna pull the 'tragic hero buries his problems 'cause no one understands' act on me?" he asked angrily. "Don't you think I'm your friend? Dude, are you trying to pull a Robin on me or something (okay, Cyborg would admit he almost laughed when Beast Boy said that. Almost)?" The shapeshifter crossed his arms. "'Cause that just doesn't suit you."

Cyborg rested his head in his hands. "Oh, man..." If he told Beast Boy, he'd go blab it to the others and then he'd get even more attention—exactly the opposite of what he wanted. But if he didn't tell him he'd still go tell them something was up with him and they'd assume the worst...

He sighed. "Alright, fine _._ It might not make sense, but I'll tell you. Just promise me not to tell anyone else."

Beast Boy grinned. "Got you! Quiet as a mouse." He swiftly transformed into a small, green mouse and scurried up the ledge to make his point.

Cyborg couldn't help but smile a little as he rolled his eyes. "Right." The smile faded as soon as it appeared as he tried to open up to the mouse in front of him, who was standing on his hind legs and ready to listen. Cyborg felt a bit ridiculous, but he pushed the feeling aside.

"I just feel...unreal," he began. He stared down at the mouse. Beast Boy nudged Cyborg's hand and squeaked, as if to say, _Go on._

"I miss who I was," Cyborg continued. "I mean–no, scratch that. I love being part of the Teen Titans, I can't imagine life without you guys now. But I still feel like...I lost myself. Like I lost a part of myself after that accident. After I became...well, this," he said, knocking on his metal chest with a resounding clang. "Robotman 2.0. I just miss...not who I used to be, I guess. But what I used to be. I have no sense of touch. There's no point in wearing clothes anymore. Half of my face is gone. And...I just don't know what that makes me now." He sighed and looked up at the sky; the sun had now set and it was deep blue with a small smattering of stars. "BB, you ever miss what you used to be?"

He let the rhetorical question sink into the silence when Beast Boy spoke. "I want to show you something."

Startled, Cyborg turned to look at Beast Boy, who was humanoid once again and hopping off the ledge to head back inside. "Don't move!" Cyborg heard him shout as he ran downstairs.

"Uh...alright!" he yelled back, wondering what surprise the green imp had up his sleeve this time.

* * *

It had been almost half an hour since Beast Boy had left him up here, leaning on the ledge of Titans Tower. He trusted his friend, but Cyborg still couldn't help but wonder if he'd scared Beast Boy off. Or perhaps he was on his way to get whatever he wanted to show him and got sidetracked. This wouldn't have been the kid's first time doing so. He was just about to call it a night when he came bounding up the stairs, a flash of green and purple with something small and brown in his hand.

"There you are! Dude, I thought you abandoned me! Where were you?" Cyborg demanded.

"I—sorry—late," Beast Boy said incoherently while panting. "Room—messy—couldn't—find." He placed the box he was holding on the ledge. It looked like it was made of aged cardboard, veins of dark brown and splotches of greyish-green eating away at the box's original light golden-brown. Beast Boy fiddled with the thin, white string that tied the box to its lid as he tried to catch his breath.

"Huh." Cyborg observed the box. It wasn't that big, barely larger than the size of his hand. "What is that?"

Beast Boy rubbed the back of his neck nervously, looking to the side. "Uh...that's what I wanted to show you." He slowly began untying the string.

Cyborg watched him in amazement. No jokes, no grinning, no disgusting tofu kebabs. Cyborg was half-expecting a whoopee cushion prank or a comedy act up on the roof, complete with his tuba and bathtub–laughter was always the solution for Beast Boy. But...the boy looked nervous right now. Cyborg could see a few beads of sweat glistening on his green forehead. His elfish ears were pressed tight against the sides of his head like a scared dog's. He gingerly picked up two small rectangles from the box and handed them to Cyborg.

They were photos. Cyborg squinted at one, mentally adjusting the brightness levels on his robotic eye in order to make out the picture in the darkness.

"It's...a kid," he said finally.

Sure enough, the photo was of a kid smiling brightly, either oblivious to the huge gap in their mouth created by their missing front teeth or proudly showing it off. They had a circular face in a warm shade of copper, with rounded cheeks pushing up on their small, flattish nose and eyes Cyborg guessed were green—he didn't know for sure because they were small and squinty from smiling so big. The kid had dark brown hair, closely cropped yet still having small spikes pointing out here and there, as if trying to escape their scalp.

He looked at the other photo. The same kid was in what appeared to be a family photo; two adults were smiling into the camera as well, one sporting olive skin and curly, shoulder-length hair and the other shorter, darker hair and some faint facial hair. Both had the same eyes as their kid; Cyborg could now see that the kid had large, deep green eyes.

But what was he supposed to do with this information? Cyborg looked over at Beast Boy for answers, but the boy's eyes refused to meet his. He just looked at the floor, repeatedly running his hands through his hair.

"BB, what're you trying to tell me? Who is this kid?"

Beast Boy stared back at Cyborg, no longer looking nervous. Instead, he appeared to be...challenging him? He narrowed his eyes so slightly that it was almost unnoticeable. He hopped onto the ledge and crossed his legs, sitting precariously near the edge. "Take a guess," he said.

"What?" Cyborg asked, incredulous. This boy was a mystery. "How am I supposed to know who this kid is? I..." He trailed off, looking to Beast Boy for help, and receiving none. All he did was stare back with those shining, green eyes, his mouth forming a slight pout as chewed on the side of his cheek, his slightly flat nose scrunching up just a bit as he did so...

 _...Oh._

Cyborg held the photo up so that it was side-by-side with Beast Boy's face.

Green eyes? Check. Short, slightly spiky hair? Check. Roundish face? Flattish nose? Same, huge smile that took over their entire face? Check, check, check. But it didn't make any sense...

"BB...is this... _you?"_

He smiled, almost as if on reflex. It didn't light up his eyes the way it usually did. It looked almost...tired. "Nice detective work, Waldo."

"Uh...it's Watson."

"I knew that." Beast Boy cleared his throat.

"So, uh...why...?" Cyborg shook his head. No, that didn't sound right. "Uh...how...?" he began again.

Beast Boy raised a hand in acknowledgement. "I get you, I get you. Story time." He exhaled before he began, his breath forming small white puffs that floated into the frigid night. "Mom and Dad were geneticists, but they focused more on animals than anything. We moved a lot. India, Kenya, Brazil...they were so excited to document the world in front of them and share it with everyone else." His voice seemed far off, misted with nostalgia. "But then," he said in a low voice, breaking out of his reverie, "we met a pretty nasty monkey in Mali. The jerk bit my arm and ran away before anyone could catch it—village doctor said I contracted this rare disease called Sakutia. Had two days to live. No one ever survives a bite from a West African green monkey." His shoulders tensed as he whispered the rest out.

"I should be dead right now. But my parents saved me. They dropped everything and rushed to find a cure in just a day. Sure, it dyed me green and gave me fangs and elf ears, and maybe they're not around anymore, but even if I technically shouldn't be, I'm still here..."

So that's what Beast Boy was. A human...but not really. Part human? Modified human? He wasn't quite sure what to call it. And to be honest, Cyborg didn't even know what to call himself half of the time.

Cyborg stared down at the photos, then back at his friend. And as he watched Beast Boy continue to exhale puffs of white into the air, eyes closed and legs crossed as he sat in silence, he knew that he didn't have to make Beast Boy promise not to tell anyone how he felt. Because he felt it too.

Cyborg sighed as he looked out into the night, watching his own breath snake out of his lips. It made him feel good. It looked like proof.

"Guess we have a lot more in common than I thought."

"Mmm." Beast Boy picked up the lid of the box sitting next to him, absentmindedly picking at the edges.

"Cy, you ever seen my handwriting?" he suddenly asked.

"Huh?" Cyborg was a bit taken aback by the odd question. "Yeah, I have," he said, biting his tongue to refrain from saying, _Doesn't mean I can read it, though._

Beast Boy gave a small laugh. "I know what you're thinking. I can't read my own stuff either. You should've seen how my z's used to be, though. They were pointy and swirly at the same time—they looked pretty sweet."

"What? What do you mean, 'used to be?'"

Beast Boy didn't answer. Instead, to Cyborg's surprise, he gently peeled back one of his gloves from his hand in the freezing night. Beast Boy never took his gloves off.

When he was finished, he waved his bare hand in front of Cyborg. A slightly paler green than the rest of his body from being covered by his gloves so much, but evidently made of flesh and blood. It wasn't so much the hand shocked Cyborg than what protruded from his hand.

Shiny, dark green talons curved downwards from each finger, thick and jagged. They glistened in the moonlight, each one appearing to have a mind of its own. It was a terrifying yet captivating sight at the same time.

"Woah," Cyborg breathed.

Beast Boy wiggled his fingers. "Yeah. Just one of the side effects from the cure that saved me. Can't clip them off, either. They're like, fused to my skin."

"That's nuts. How can you even hold things in those?"

"What, you think I wanted to knock over all the salt onto Raven's plate last Thanksgiving?" Beast Boy snorted. "Believe it or not, I actually do value my life, thank you. Same thing with Mega Monkeys, you know. It's pretty hard pressing the right buttons. But I would kick your butt at that game if I were-" he stopped. his ears suddenly dropped as that unmistakable smile that was beginning to grow on his face vanished, and Cyborg knew exactly why.

He was about to say _normal._ If he were _normal._

Cyborg's entire life used to revolve around that word. Fear over whether it would ever apply to him again. Anger over losing that part of him. Sadness over never being able to feel that way again.

But despite everything Beast Boy had shared with him, that familiar, emerald-green skin never gave way in his mind to the copper found in those old photos.

"Ugh, I'm sorry. I came up here to make you feel better. I shouldn't have done this."

"You didn't do anything wrong." Cyborg put the photos back in the box; he didn't even have to ask Beast Boy for the lid he was holding to close it. It just slipped right out of his hand with no resistance.

"You are normal," Cyborg said as he tied up the box with the string. "To me, at least."

Beast Boy looked up at him, though he didn't look quite convinced. "Yeah?"

"'Course you are. Who cares if you didn't always look like a grass stain? This is the way I've always known you. And that's just how I like you. It doesn't change the fact that you're caring friend and a loyal teammate." Cyborg smiled as he put a hand on Beast Boy's shoulder. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

The smile began to return to Beast Boy's face. His eyes actually seemed to brighten up this time. "Don't you see, Cyborg? That's the same way it's always been with you."

Cyborg stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"Well, this is the way I–well, all of the Titans—we've known you. And, not gonna lie—you are _sick._ Between you and me? Robin's _super_ jealous of your sonic cannon. Says he can't believe you built it just by rewiring yourself. And Star thinks it's really cool that a human can lift a bus just as easily as she can–you know how many humans can do that? Dude, even Raven told me once that all your shiny gadgets and doohickeys look really sweet. I mean–she didn't say it that way exactly but you know what I mean. Vic...we don't love you even though you're you. We love you because you're you. Well, that and because you can always kick major bad-guy butt in a battle." Beast Boy gave Cyborg a fanged, toothy grin.

And Cyborg couldn't help but smile back. "Thanks, BB. I...wait," he said, his smile giving way to confusion. "How do you know my first name?"

"Oh! Uh, you see, well, I, uh..." Beast Boy twiddled his thumbs. "I kinda-sorta-maybe hacked into the tower database?"

"Wha—you little green turd! What's with you and breaking into sensitive data?!"

"Well, you gotta admit, I am pretty good at it, right? Looks like you gotta beef up your security next time."

"I already did! Like, the last _six times!"_

Beast Boy crossed his arms. "Well, a wise man once said that all work and no play killed the cat."

Cyborg burst out laughing. "That doesn't even make any sense!"

"Hmm..." Beast Boy frowned. "Maybe it was the other way around then."

"No, no." Cyborg wiped a tear from his eye from laughing so much.

The two now sat in a comfortable silence, the cold enveloping them. The cold never managed to seep into Cyborg's bones, though. But he was no longer upset by it.

This time, he had a new kind of proof. One that he knew would stick around for a while.

* * *

 _Hello there! Thanks so much for the read. :) Sadly, I'd never cared much for Cyborg when I watched Teen Titans as a kid. Rewatching it now, though, his character just appeals so much to me–that balance between the past and the future, man and the machine. And honestly, any character dynamic with Beast Boy in it is a wonderful adventure for me in writing. I feel that Beast Boy struggles with how he's transformed in regards to his old self just as much as Cyborg; it would have been quite interesting if that had been touched on in the series. Also, yes. My headcanon is a non-white Beast Boy, I can dream lol. Especially since the series takes a bunch of liberties and strays a bit from the source material as well. Anyways, that's my blurb for today. Thanks again for reading!_


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